


A Swindler's Tale

by WhiteLuna



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Accents, Alternate Universe - Human, America Being an Idiot (Hetalia), Con Artists, Fluff and Humor, Light Angst, M/M, On the Run, Organized Crime, Poor England (Hetalia)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-22
Updated: 2018-05-22
Packaged: 2019-05-10 02:09:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14727959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiteLuna/pseuds/WhiteLuna
Summary: He’s a fast talking, wise cracking young American with a pearly white smile and an eager handshake. But don’t let his friendly personality fool you. He’ll swipe your goods and slip away before you realize you’ve been bamboozled. Too bad a certain gullible Briton doesn’t know this.  AU, Swindler!Alfred X Butler!Arthur.





	A Swindler's Tale

**Author's Note:**

> Alfred speaks in a lot of slang throughout the story.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Hetalia.

**Fool Me Once, Shame on You**

It was a dreary day for the Briton. When his plane arrived in the United States and he disembarked into the foreign country he felt his chest constrict for a moment, his eyes holding back tears. He made to whip his nose as if suffering from allergies and sniffed away the lingering sorrow.

_“Please, take care of my son. I trust you will flourish well, even when I am long gone.”_

Those last words resonated so strongly within the man that not even a week after his master’s death did he buy the first available ticket to the US and contact the son in hopes of fleeing the house where only painful memories taunted him now.

With the pace of an old man, the tired 23-year-old butler made his way through the lively crowd of fellow passengers until he found the baggage drop off area. Once he received his lone luggage from the conveyer belt he headed towards the exit, immediately surrounded by the active vibrant buzz of Queens, New York upon stepping outside. He grumbled under his breath something along the lines of how the city paled in comparison to Paris, searching the streets for a taxi.

Eventually he found a taxi and was on his way to the hotel where he would stay the night until the next day. He would then continue on his way towards a small city called Bridgewater. There, his new master by the name of Francis Bonnefoy awaited his arrival.

He sighed out of habit as he tucked his items under the bed of his hotel room and glanced outside the glass window offering a pristine view of the bustling city. It was near evening. Certainly, Arthur felt worn from the lengthy trip he endured flying from Paris down to New York but for some reason, he didn’t feel like retiring for the night just yet. Loosing his tie until it fell onto his mattress he grimaced at his reflection near the bathroom mirror and scoffed at his disheveled appearance.

“Whatever. It’s not like the American’s here take great measure to dress properly anyways.” He muttered as he strolled out of his room in casual attire. He walked back into the streets and simply wandered some distance to a nearby park. From the entrance of the public area he could hear a great roar of people clamoring and shrieking with what he could only assume was excitement. Curiosity getting the best of him, Arthur followed the growing noise until it lead him to a nifty little carnival placed a street away from the park. “Wow.”

His eyes glowed with the vivid colors that swam around, giant signs welcoming attendees to join their festive stalls or wild rides. Somehow the British butler found himself in queue and even pulled out the money to pay the small entrance fee, the gates swinging rhythmically with the constant outpour of guests passing through.

He watched with raised eyebrows as carnival go-ers eagerly flung themselves at precarious rollercoasters and spinning contraptions, unable to comprehend how this sort of pass time could bring them such elation and joy. Groaning in annoyance when he found the intense noise level to be too much he hastily rushed to find a place of peace, regretting his choice to come to this carnival. To the corner of the field, he finally saw what looked like a resting area and sighed in relief when he felt his headache subside the further he distanced himself from the racket of the crowds and families.   

Taking a seat on a bench he heard another sound, one of children laughing innocently behind him. Turning around, he was met with the sight of a make shift puppet theater centered on the border of where the carnival ended and where a neighborhood began.

“And thus, the world was saved! Thanks to…!” The entertainer juggled a puppet dressed in a strange looking outfit and pranced it around the stage as he continued on a mindless monologue about fighting evil do-er and protecting the people. It was easy for the blond to drown out his words, a familiar numbness he felt many times begin to envelope him as his mind weaved towards darker thoughts.  

“Oy!” Called out the entertainer’s voice. Arthur was surprised as he snapped his focus back onto the theater.

“Huh?”

Onto the stage next to the “heroic” puppet came stumbling another puppet, this one tipsy with his own tiny alcohol bottle glued to his little flailing hand. “What are ye scamp’s lookin’ at?” Echoed the puppet master, the children happily amused by the drunkard as they squealed with laughter.

It seemed all were tickled, except for a certain British butler. His face twitched with every stumble and idiotic comment the drunkard made onstage, very well aware of the terrible English accent he was slurring out to the kids.

By the time the kids were finished with the play and returned to their parents, Arthur had felt his patience with this stranger reach it breaking point, completely flabbergasted by the shameless stereotyping this man was impressing on the young children.

Oh, he had quite a few choice words for the man. Words that he could pronounce properly for starters. When the puppets receded into the confines of the wooden theater Arthur made his move.

“Excuse me.” Began the Briton with arms crossed and a stern frown. He tapped his foot against the ground impatiently as a young blond probably around the age of 19 emerged from the covers of the set up.

“Oh my gosh!” The young man’s eyes sparkled when he heard the Briton speak. “Your Irish!”

“I’m British you twat!”

“Oh!” The blue-eyed blond smiled, tilting his head in question. “What’s the difference?”

Half caught between a stammer and a growl, the Briton quickly gathered himself and let out a deep breath. He lifted his finger up accusingly at the young American. “Look here you git-.”

“Alfred.” Interrupted the blond with a big goofy grin on his face.

“You-!” Arthur reeled back in confusion. “-What?”

“The name’s Alfred. Alfred F. Jones.” Proclaimed the American proudly, hand puppets boldly held to his sides. “Put her there.” He offered with a hand.

The Briton angrily stared down at his puppet encased hand, completely miffed to see the drunkard presented to him up close.

“Ah, haha, sorry.” The man chuckled nervously before swiftly removing the puppet and returning his outstretched hand. “Nice to meet’cha.”

Staring down at the hand, Arthur gritted his teeth, conflicted between following common courtesy but also remaining avid in his dislike for the entertainer’s poor taste in humor. Against his better judgement he stiffly reached forward, taken aback as the young blond enthusiastically shook his hand.

“Well, whad’ya think?” Drawled the American cheerfully. “Did I do your impression justice?”

It astounded the Briton how oblivious this idiot was to the blatant insult he had flung onto his language and culture. “Pardon?” Arthur added with a skeptical expression. Alfred’s smile widened if that was even physically possible as he graciously placed his arm on the Briton’s shoulder and lead him towards the child’s theater.

“Did ya want to hel-?” Before Alfred could finish his question, Arthur stamped his foot back and sent him a nasty glare.

“No.” Arthur felt a sneer crawl up his lip as he mentally took the theater apart. “Quite frankly, I found your impression very rude and shallow.” He turned his nose up. “Any decent Briton worth his pound would tell you that your form of ‘entertainment’ was ridiculous at best.”

In response to the criticism Alfred chuckled. “Hot damn, you really are the real thing.” Arthur found himself speechless. “Ay, you think you can show me the ropes? I bet you’d be a riot with the kids!”     

“Did you even hear a single word I just said?” Uttered Arthur, his bushy brows knitted in irritation. The American blond continued to chuckle lightly, casually tossing his hand puppets into the crevice of the stage.

“Course I did. You said I need to improve.”

“What?” Arthur stressed out. “NO! I’m saying your joke about this-!” Arthur stomped over to the stage and aggressively yanked out the drunkard puppet. “THIS isn’t funny.” He violently shook the puppet for emphasis.

“Ouch.” Quipped Alfred nervously. “Don’t sweat it, I gotcha. I can change the act. I’ll turn him into a pirate.”

But his offer fell on deaf ears, the aggravated Briton reaching his limit with this hopelessly stupid American. He slumped the poor puppet back onto the stage and turned away. He pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, slowly counting to ten. This idiot just didn’t get it.

Resolving to leave this case as a lost cause, Arthur composed himself and returned to face the man. With a curt nod of his head he added, “I see our conversation will prove fruitless. Good day.” And began to make his way out of the amusement park.

“Hold your horses!” Responded Alfred, swiftly stepping forward to block the Briton’s exit. “I think we got off on the wrong foot. Here, let me make it up to you.” Refusing to let Arthur have another word on the matter, Alfred brought the man back to the theater and casually knocked off the top of the stage. Was he destroying his own creation?!

“What are you-?” Said the Briton before trailing away. In place of the former theater was a simple wooden table underneath the covers and curtains. Alfred promptly stood behind the table and revealed a deck of cards from the pocket of his brown jacket.

“Check it.” He called out, passionately shuffling the cards and spreading them face down onto the table neatly. “Pick a card, any card.”

Arthur was not impressed, considering his options of running away from this airheaded man who refused to comprehend his indifference. Yet, he still pulled a card from the deck and shot it a heavy frown. It was the queen of diamonds. “Now what?” He prodded, about to raise the chosen card to Alfred’s view. But he rashly waved the card’s identity back into his possession.

“Not yet.” He instructed. Arthur muttered a low insult under his breath and waited as Alfred mixed and shuffled the cards across the table once more. “Now, place your card down.” He indicated towards the edge. Arthur did as he was told with a frown.

“Now, pick your second card. Match the suit with your first card and I’ll hand ya $50 bucks.” Arthur was befuddled.

“Bucks? As in… deer?”

“Ah.” Exclaimed Alfred who bit back a hearty laugh. “Sorry, I mean cash. I’ll give you 50 dollars if you match the cards.”

It was a generous offer for a foreigner who barely arrived in an unknown country. Tempted with the possibility of a quick winning, Arthur greedily reached for a second card before halting. He scowled. “And what happens if I don’t win?”

“Nothing.” Alfred shrugged carelessly. “I’m letting you play a free game, on me.”

The butler remained skeptical as he slowly flipped his intended card and felt his heart skip a beat. Another diamond.

“Hot dog! That’s some luck you got there!” Slapped Alfred dramatically. He fished out a crisp $50 bill and patted it onto the wooden surface. “Welp, I’m a man of my word.”

Snatching the paper and examining it frivolously, Arthur’s gaze shifted between the grinning American and the legit bill, a confused crocked smile plastered on his face. “Are you… serious?”

Alfred cheerfully nodded. “As sure as the sky is blue.”

He crinkled the paper in his hand and studied the man before him, unable to comprehend why anyone would gladly give their money away. Was this another strange past time that American’s loved to partake in?

“Why?” Arthur dared to voice, unable to accept another mystery of American culture.

“I keep the kids entertained when the parents are tied up.” Alfred started. “But I also entertain the parents when they’re kids are off playing. Can you dig it?”

There he went again, making no sense. Arthur continued to examine the money in his hand, turning the blond’s words over in his head as if trying to solve a riddle.

“Normally I charge the adults a fee for a game but since I crossed ya, I figured I’d do you a solid and let you play a round anyways.”

Arthur mindlessly hovered over the remaining cards, wordlessly flipping some over and revealing a few spades, clubs and hearts. Perhaps he was too harsh in his judgement of this naïve American. Surely anyone in Europe would scoff at the notion of an individual freely risking their money for the sake of entertainment. The Briton’s grip on a card tightened.

“And… how much do you charge for a game?” He asked curiously. Unbeknownst to the inattentive blond, the American smirked with a glint shining in his azure eyes.

“Ah, well.” He brought a hand up to his chin in thought. “Regular’s like to bring home the bacon, so they come prepared. But for newbies, I prefer to start them off small, so they don’t crash and burn right away.”

The Briton stared at him unamused. Behind his bored look however, he had bit the bait, interest already spurring him to try another game if he was this lucky. Recalling how the American had commented that “newbies” started out with small wagers he felt pressured to bet a little more than what he was comfortable with. But when he reached into his pocket to pull out a smaller bill he could vaguely hear people whispering. To the corner of his eyes he could see some passing Americans staring at him, laughing behind their hands. With a twitch of his face he withdrew an empty hand and returned his $50 bill to the wooden table top. “Is this enough?” Alfred vigorously nodded his head in reply.

“Ok, ummm,” he collected the cards and shuffled them. “Pick your card and show me what it is.” The cards were lined up. “All you gotta do is find the same card and your winnings get doubled. If ya lose though, then you lose double the money.”

The Briton was hesitant when he heard the rules. Double his winnings would make his arrival so much more pleasant with extra money in his pocket but, the consequences of losing loomed over his shoulder. Arthur scanned the options intently, his eyes landing on a card mixed in the middle with a bent edge. He scooped it up and flashed it to the American.

“Ah, a King of Spade.” Echoed Alfred with interest.

The card was returned to the deck, the blond excitedly passing them back and forth between his hands. “Ok, you sure you’re ok with your bet?”

Arthur nudged the money further up the table with a confident smirk. Alfred grinned.

“Ok, ok. You have the extra $50 if you lose, right?” Mildly conflicted about his choice, Arthur reached into his blazer and withdrew an added $50 bill. Somewhere in his mind a voice was screaming at him to cancel the bet and just go home with what he already won but the pressure of adding to his fortune egged him on.

How could he lose? His card was the only one with a bent edge. “Come on now. I’m not getting any younger.” Arthur snapped with a cocky voice. Alfred faintly let out a small laugh, his legs swaying with the rambunctious music that danced around them.

“Aye Captain.” He slapped the deck of cards onto the table and flushed them out evenly. “Ya sure you don’t want to back out? I reckon I’ve seen a good dozen customers get cold feet last minute.”

Arthur stifled the growl that traveled up his throat, choosing to mask it behind a cough. _Stop the bet!_ He studied the face down cards, searching for the one with a bent corner. _You literally only have enough money to pay for half the trip to Bridgewater!_ His emerald eyes gleamed as he found his card. _Are you really ok with walking the rest of the way?_

And just as he turned the card over, he felt his heart sink. A jack of hearts.

“W-what?” He chocked out, so sure that he had selected his original card. The bend was on the same location. None of the other cards were bent except for the one he grabbed. He felt so humiliated, refusing to peel his mortified gaze away from the deceitful card.

“Aww shucks.” Alfred hollered out. “Even I was beginning to pull for ya when I saw how confident you were.” The American swiftly deposited the forlorn bills into his sleeve.

“Welp, that’s how the cookie crumbles.” When the Briton refused to budge Alfred began to fidget uncomfortably. “Uhhh, hey…mister? Are you ok?” His head shot up and immediately made eye contact with the young man. Sympathetic blue clashing against livid green.

Just looking at the apologetic man riled the Briton to throw his card onto the table and turn on his heel without another word. Like he had any reason to stick around and make a bigger fool of himself. No one stopped him from leaving this time, his fists balled up as he shoved his way through the crowd and went back to his hotel.

“What a pigeon.” Smirked Alfred.

The minute he entered his room he furiously slammed the door shut and swore to the ceiling. “Dammit! Bloody hell! How could I lose!?” He had the right card. Even if he was technically cheating, how could he prove to the grinning man that his card was rigged?

He froze in his step, about to kick his baggage peeking from under the bed when the thought echoed in his head. _What if the cards WERE rigged?_ How else could he lose when his card was the only bent one? But wasn’t it too obvious too? Was that the bait that he foolishly took without question?

Arthur quietly sat on his bed and mulled over his situation for the next few hours, ascertain to find some valid explanation for his loss. In the end, despite his wounded pride, the only answer he could find was that somehow, he was cheated. When he came to that conclusion he grew angry once more.

Shooting up from his bed he roughly rummaged through his pocket and dragged out a crumbled note. Glaring daggers at the entrance ticket he resolved to return to the carnival and confront the American about the honesty of his “game.”

Retracing his steps towards the corner of the nearly empty amusement attraction Arthur spotted the same table and its shady owner currently entertaining two unsuspecting victims. Taking cover behind an empty stand, Arthur watched the inaudible chatter between the trio, one suspect amiably nodding his head at Alfred while his partner crossed his arms, completely looking displeased.

With a cartoonish jump of merriment into the air, the ecstatic raggedly individual departed from Alfred’s company, followed by his clean-cut companion who sent the blond one last dirty look as they left. Their voices grew more decipherable as they drifted past Arthur’s hiding spot.

“Look at that David! Two hundred bucks, cash!” When Arthur glanced to see if it was his rightful money he grimaced as the bragging fellow waved a handful of dull looking bills. “I betcha I can finally buy that washer that Ma’s been dreaming about.”

His friend rudely jabbed him in the side. “That’s if you don’t spend it all on booze by the time you get home.” His face scrunched up in frustration. “I don’t buy it. That little shit is a swindler. I just know it!”

When his friend giggled in amusement the man slapped him on the shoulder. “Stop laughing! I almost lost a grand because of him!” Their banter soon receded into the darkness as they left the area.

Reluctantly leaving the cover of the wooden stall, Arthur furrowed his eyebrows in thought. “He won that much money?” Back towards the former children’s theater, Arthur could see that Alfred was already packing up his things, stiffly stretching his arms in the air as if he had spent a long day at work. He held some doubts about his own thought but figured the only way to confirm their validity would be to be as straightforward as possible. He took notice when Alfred turned to him with surprise.

“Ah, you’re back?” Alfred chirped nervously. He plastered a grin on his face and knocked on the gathered material and pieces. “It’s nearly midnight. Gotta peel back home before I turn into a pumpkin.” He joked.

When Arthur crossed his arms in annoyance Alfred sheepishly scratched his head in confusion. “Uhhhh…dude I gotta jet or-.”

“Are you a con artist?” Arthur asked coldly.

The young man raised his eyebrows, internally stunned by the man’s quick accusation but visibly unfazed as he had grown used to such scrutiny. He smirked as he leaned forward on the table and belted out a long whistle. “Golly, you Brit’s sure don’t beat around the bush, huh?

Arthur slammed both his hands on the table. “Answer my question.”

Glancing up at the angry blond between ruffled strands of hair Alfred could not hold back a hearty chuckle. “Heh, you know what? I like you.” He uncrossed his arms and rose from the table, his full height towering over the agitated man. “What’s your name pal?”

“You didn’t answer my-!”

“Give me a name first.” Interrupted Alfred coolly. “Then I’ll spill the beans.”

Arthur grumbled and glared at the American in silence but knew he would get no where if he didn’t oblige by the young man’s demand. “It’s Arthur.” He grudgingly muttered.

“Cool. Alright Art,” he started, openly ignoring the man’s exclaims of how he wasn’t pronouncing his name properly. “Truth is, I’m not really a con artist.”

It was Arthur’s turn to sputter in disbelief. “W-what? No! It’s a yes or no question. There’s no in between answer!”

“You sure about that? Cause I play my games fair and square, but the sore losers tend to think I’m cheating.” He carelessly shrugged as he put his deck of cards on the table. “You can check them if ya want.”

Although he swiped the deck off the table and flipped through them, Arthur was still not convinced. “How do I know your not hiding another deck?” He quizzed suspiciously. Alfred sighed as he took off his bomber jacket and tossed it into the Briton’s hands.

Warily lifting the sweet-smelling jacket and peeking in between its crevices, Arthur felt his allegation crumbling away. “Well… what if…” He flinched when the American deftly took a step forward with his arms raised, mistaking his sudden movement for a possible attack. Just as he was about to land a swift punch into his abdomen Arthur froze when the same wholehearted laugh escaped the blond.

“What? Did’ja want to pat me down too while you’re at it?” Arthur frowned when Alfred winked at him. “Just to make sure.”

Sneering in disgust with the man’s teasing, Arthur spun away to hide his embarrassment, his grip on the jacket stretching it from the sleeve. “Ugh.” He spat.

With Arthur temporarily distracted Alfred scanned the lonely fairgrounds and felt a spike of adrenaline as he saw some familiar blue uniformed men far in the distance. Thankfully they hadn’t spotted him yet, but he knew he had to make his escape quick. “Hey Art.” Spoke the American quietly.

“My name isn’t Art, you twat. It’s Arthur.” Yelled the Briton who held the brown jacket like a hostage.

“Yeah, sure.” Alfred continued nonchalantly. “You mind waiting for me here while I go drop some things off with a bud of mines?” He nodded towards the neighborhood behind them. “I can probably give ya a refund since you seem pretty down about all this.”

Upon hearing those words, Arthur’s eyes lit up. “Really?” His voice held some doubt, having already lost some money and pride in this whole affair.

“Sure thing. But if I give you a refund then the least you could do is show me how you pronounce some of your fancy words in British.” Alfred offered with an “ok” hand gesture.

“It’s English, for god’s sake.” Corrected Arthur.

“Yeah yeah, I gotcha.” Alfred chortled as he lifted his belongings under his arm. “Catch ya later.” He sang, ditching the blond with his jacket. It was a sacrifice worth making if it meant the blue uniformed men wouldn’t catch him.

Left to linger around the empty table with the man’s bomber jacket and a bunch of cards scattered about Arthur instantly felt like something was off when he watched the American slink off into the mouth of an alley on the side of the neighborhood, his last words resounding incessantly in his head.

_Catch ya later? Wait… He’s coming back, right?_

When realization finally hit, Arthur violently threw the coat on the floor and was about to high tail it after the swindler when a heavy hand landed on his shoulder.

“Where do you think your going?” Asked a man, his badge shining brightly against the flashing lights of fading stalls. Arthur looked the man up and down, taking an uneasy note of his partner who shared the same uniform. The policemen sent each other a silent message before turning back to Arthur.

“Excuse us but we have a couple of questions for you regarding your… activity here.” They refused to listen to the Briton stutter some unintelligible words as one man quietly lead him away from the abandoned table. The other stayed behind to gather the evidence of illegal gambling and quickly followed the officer.

For the remainder of the night, Arthur spent it at the police station, trying to convince the officers that he was not the swindler reported by guests. Nor was he an accomplice, desperately trying to explain to them that he was a victim in this whole mess of a trip.

By morning break, they would release him at last, taking pity on his terrible luck once they confirmed he was indeed a new arrival to the country and send him off to his hotel room which he did not once get to truly enjoy its comfort.

Sleep deprived and tired, the Briton dragged himself to a payphone and punched in some numbers. When the droning of the dial tone greeted him back warmly he crushed the phone back into its handle and sent any curious looks from passerby’s a murderous glare. 

He ran a hand through his messy hair and growled as he considered his two options. He wanted nothing more then to find that bubbling idiot and rip him a new one, but alas, he still had his obligations as a butler. His trip to his master’s home was now in jeopardy as he lacked sufficient funds to arrive there on time.

He groaned in despair, cursing his stupidity for failing to see the consequences of his actions. Lifting his luggage from the sidewalk, he resigned to find a taxi and perhaps persuade a kind driver to take him farther then what he could afford. As much as he loathed to admit this, he did not have the necessary funds or support to hunt Alfred down and seek his revenge.

For now, he would concede defeat and continue on his journey to meet his new master. But if things worked out nicely enough in this wretched country, this angry Briton would surely find that swindling American one day. And when he did…

Oh, there would be hell to pay.


End file.
